


Zombies feel regret, you know

by gracca_amorosa



Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: F/M, It's just really sad, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:46:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27170594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracca_amorosa/pseuds/gracca_amorosa
Summary: Blaine DeBeers has done some incredibly shitty things in his life, and it's finally catching up to him.
Relationships: Blaine DeBeers/Liv Moore
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	Zombies feel regret, you know

Blaine DeBeers was not a kind man. Not a nice man, not a generous man, not a man that one would be proud to call a friend. Not a man that you could bring home to mom. And most of the time, he liked it that way. He was smug in his very distinctive standoffish way, and the only person who might be pleased to call Blaine a friend was Don E., who wasn’t quite smart enough not to.

But occasionally, Blaine felt like absolute dogshit for not being a kind man. He wasn’t ever sure when it would happen, but it would come on him like a fucking freight train. It didn’t happen most of the times he was murdering someone who had slighted him in some small way, or when he was extorting someone for more brains for less cash, or when he had a rival taken out. Didn’t happen when he dropped his failure of a father down a well.

But sometimes, Liv would look at him with stark disappointment in her eyes. Ravi would shake his head at his actions almost but not quite out of view, hairy face frowning at whatever he had done or said. Sometimes, though, it happened without these external factors making him stop and think and reflect too hard on his own actions, which he tried to avoid at all costs. Sometimes, it was just him and a bold fucker that had tried to cut into his profits, and a gun, and even when he was the only one left standing the pang of disappointment in himself would well up inside of him and could not be ignored as much as he tried. And he did try, with drink and drugs and sex and work, but it didn’t work for shit. He still went home to his fancy fucking house and his fancy fucking brains and cried and cried until he felt like a raisin, and slept for twelve hours.

Once, and just once, after his father had gotten out of the well and decided he was Zombie Jesus, he called on Liv, who he expected to be a voice of reason for him, as she had always been in the past. But this time, he just broke down instead. The first and maybe only time he had cried so hard in front of anyone, and it was Liv of all people, but that’s what she was there for, after all – to be his terrible conscience, to tell him he was bad and wrong, to remind him that he was ruining people’s lives. And she did it all without saying a fucking word.

She stood in the middle of his office, silent, frown just barely turning down the corners of her mouth and a single line marring her face, right between her (he hated to say it) furrowed brows. He looked at her, also silent, and all of a sudden all of the regrets in his life came rushing into his brain like a freight train, and he was watching the wreckage.

And then he was on his knees, sobbing so hard his chest hurt, which was impressive since zombies didn’t feel much pain. He had been shot before, and it was less painful than this. His breath was ragged, his vision was blurred, and Liv was silent.

He crawled towards her on his hands and knees, no strength left to right himself, and dragged himself up her legs, resting his head on her soft stomach, and this made him cry harder for a minute, pain like a knife in his throat, rubbed raw already. She didn’t speak, for a long time neither of them spoke. He sobbed into her stomach, tears and snot messing her shirt, his hands dug hard into her lower back to steady himself. After a few moments she ran a hand through his hair, a soothing motion – he had always loved it when people played with his hair – but then she gripped, hard, and pushed him into her soft center, reminding him again of his own hard edges and ripping another deep sob from his throat.

He found himself babbling.

_Forgive me,_ he said over and over again. _I have done terrible things, monstrous things, and I need you to forgive me. I need you to tell me I am okay. I need you to tell me I am redeemable. I have sorrow in every vein, in every though, and you, only you, are the one who can bring me salvation. Tell me I can be saved. Tell me you love me still._

And every time, the answer: _No._

_You cannot be saved. You cannot be redeemed. You have done terrible, monstrous things and I can never forgive you. You are not okay. You deserve this pain. Knowing this remorse is the only way you can heal._

_You cannot be saved._

_I do not love you._

Silence, again, except for his sobbing. He looks up at Liv and hopes to see her face looking beatifically down at him, but she was not looking, and would not look. Refused to look. She pressed him harder into her stomach, fist tugging more and more painfully on his hair until he was almost in tears from that too, but she refused to look. Her face was twisted into a faint grimace instead, into something he recognized as disgust, and anger. He kept chanting quietly, almost silently, _forgive me, forgive me, forgive me,_ and she did not respond at all except to pull him in tighter.

Eventually he ran out of breath, out of tears, and he gulped air like a drowning man and became still. For a long moment Liv did not release him, and when she did she was still not looking at him. The regret and sadness he had just felt so deeply was still there, but was already ebbing like an outgoing tide. It was being replaced bit by bit with shame, and anger, and that dead, cold sureness that he was so used to, that he wanted like a drug, to keep him level when he needed to make hard decisions. He was still on his knees but everything was coming back into sharp focus around him. And before he became fully numb to himself he asked once more: _Forgive me,_ and once more Liv responded, _No._

_You’re not worth it, Blaine. You will do evil, despicable things again, and again, and again, and feel no remorse for them until it’s too late, and you are not worth that time, that emotional labor. You will not learn from your mistakes._

He was not sure if she had actually said this last bit or if he had imagined it, but she was letting him go and walking out before he could figure it out.

And once again he was left empty and mean.


End file.
